The Unrelenting Hodge-Podge of Codswolloping Drivel
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: John and Sherlock aren't always on cases. Sometimes, they... they do normal things, like... go shopping or... hang out with John's friends... or, or... Well, they definitely aren't ALWAYS on cases... Oneshots looking into John and Sherlock's life, on various random topics. Chapter Four: Laughter is the Best Medicine.
1. Chapter 1

**The Unrelenting Hodge-Podge of Codswalloping Drivel**

_Chapter One: Bond. James Bond._

"Sherlock!"

"Hm?"

"Sherlock, come on! We're going to be late!"

"We're not going to be late, John. We've got an hour."

"We have to get in _line_! And then we have to find seats, and get drinks, and-"

"Yes, right, fine."

"Sherlock, get your nose out of that microscope and let's go!"

"I don't want to, John. Go on without me."

"What- _no_. I introduced you to this and you even agreed that it wasn't terrible! You have to come with me!"

"I don't have to do anything that I don't want to."

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock sighed heavily, looking up from his microscope. John was dithering in the doorway, checking his watch.

"We're not going to be late," Sherlock said stubbornly, standing. He stretched his arms above his head with a slight yawn.

"You underestimate the popularity of this, Sherlock!"

"No." But then Sherlock paused. "Actually, I probably do. I've never had time to mull over what movies are popular and what movies aren't. Popularity's simply a passing fad, in any state."

"Oh- come _on_, Sherlock!" John retorted, looking to his watch, and then the clock, and then to the door and back to Sherlock. "Come on!"

"I'm ready when you are," he said absently, grabbing his coat from the back of the door.

"_Finally_! Come on!" John took off down the stairs.

Sherlock followed him less than enthusiastically. "John, why is it called 'Skyfall'? Does it involve the end of the world in a very obscure way, because, if so, I am going to be very, very bored..."

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**For those who don't get it, Skyfall is the new Bond movie. I have no idea about the movie; I've never seen besides like ten minutes of one Bond movie and I'm not interested in it at all. xD But, John likes Bond, Sherlock didn't hate Bond, and I heard Bond was very, very popular in Britain when it just released. So, a fic. xD**

**The point of ****_The Unrelenting Hodge-Podge of Codswalloping Drivel_**** is that it's going to be a series of oneshots. Unrelated oneshots, though, unless stated. If you follow me, you know I write a ton of random oneshots, so all oneshots will now be added as a chapter to this story [basically], so if you like my oneshots, you might want to follow this. :) Thanks for any follows/favs/reviews, etc. It means a lot!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Proper Place and Time for Sleep**

It was a particularly brutal string of murders that had kept them on the same case for a week. But, finally, _finally_, it was over.

John was just exhausted from watching Sherlock bustle around for the past week. On top of that, he was fairly sure that Sherlock had hardly slept, if he _had_ at all, and that made John even more tired. He didn't know how Sherlock did it.

Except, he did. Because, after a case, Sherlock would crash.

And he was doing it now.

They were sitting in Lestrade's office; Lestrade was on the phone at the moment, and Sherlock was sitting next to John in the other chair. John was sipping at a cup of particularly strong coffee, his eyes flickering between Lestrade and Sherlock every so often.

Sherlock was trying very, _very_ hard to stay awake.

John had a permanent smile on his face as he watched Sherlock's eyelids droop and flutter shut, only to snap back open a moment later. John kept the mug in front of his face, smiling softly to himself as he watched his friend battle with sleep.

It was like this, sometimes. Usually Sherlock could make it to the cab before his exhaustion took over, but, apparently, not today.

John laughed slightly, muffling it by taking a drink of coffee.

When Sherlock's eyes fluttered shut, and stayed shut, John cast a long glance at Lestrade, noting that the detective still was busy on the phone. John conveniently stretched, taking care to kick the leg of Sherlock's chair. Sherlock jumped slightly, before turning his sleep-deprived gaze on John.

The consulting detective sighed before sitting up straighter. "Are we done here yet?"

Lestrade glanced up. "What? Oh, yeah, sure. Bloody people have me on hold." He sighed. "I'll call you later."

"Great," Sherlock muttered, sounding more annoyed than he should have, considering that they were allowed to leave. John reckoned that it probably had something to do with the fact that it seemed like they could have left ages ago.

"Tired?" John asked, as he followed Sherlock out of New Scotland Yard.

Sherlock only gave a noncommental grunt in return. John smiled and took it as an affirmative.

"You know, if you just slept once in awhile..."

Sherlock slid into the cab, sighing heavily. "I don't sleep when I'm working, you know that." He sunk lower in the seat, resting his head back and closing his eyes.

"Well, don't fall asleep now. I'm not going to carry you inside. Might not even wake you up when we get home," John joked.

Sherlock opened his eyes briefly enough to give him an indignant look. "Really, John," he muttered, closing his eyes again, "for all of your nagging for me to sleep, you're being very insensitive."

John shrugged, turning to the window to laugh quietly to himself.

Despite the fact that John said he wasn't going to wake Sherlock up when they got to Baker Street, he did tap on Sherlock's shoulder when they pulled up outside their flat. Sherlock didn't stir.

Refusing the very cruel voice telling him to just tell the cabbie to drive wherever with Sherlock's sleeping self, John grabbed Sherlock's shoulder and shook it this time.

"Time to get up, Sherlock."

"Hmmm?" Sherlock mumbled, opening one eye.

"We're home," he said, resisting the urge to laugh again. A sleepy Sherlock was a rare Sherlock, but, God, if it wasn't hilarious. "You need to wake up."

Sherlock sighed heavily, pushing himself into a straighter position. "I'm awake," he grumbled, fumbling for the cab door. "Pay," he said wearily. "I'll pay you back..." He finally got the door open, stumbling out.

"No, you won't," John replied, smiling to himself. Nonetheless, he paid the cabbie and followed Sherlock, who was waiting, slumped, against the door. "You know, Sherlock, you could do better than nicking my gun. Nick my keys once in awhile, and unlock for yourself."

"I just... I just forgot the keys today, John," Sherlock said wearily, his eyes flickering shut and fluttering open again. "I've been busy."

"As is apparent," John joked, unlocking the door.

Sherlock had been leaning against the door for support, and John had (admittingly, accidentally) forgotten to take this point into consideration when he pushed the door open.

Sherlock went toppling into their flat.

Literally.

The giggles that had been threatening John ever since Scotland Yard suddenly burst forth from his lips. Sherlock's bemused look tipped him even further over the edge and John gripped tightly at the door frame to prevent himself from ending up on the floor as well.

"John... John," Sherlock drawled, sitting up. "John, it's not funny..."

"On the contrary," John laughed, raising his hand to cover his mouth. It effectively didn't muffle his laughter. "It's _hilarious_."

"Boys, is that you?" The door to 221A opened and the worried face of Mrs. Hudson peered out.

"S-Sorry, Mrs. Hudson," John choked out, waving a hand dismissively.

"Is everything okay?"

"Fine, fine," John snickered. "We're fine."

Sherlock sniffed and hauled himself wearily to his feet, gripping the stairway banister to keep himself standing. He blinked tiredly.

"I am tired," he said shortly, with as much dignity as he could muster. He turned for the stairs, away from John, who was just starting to quiet down. "_Good_night, John," he said defiantly.

"Yes, goodnight, Sherlock," John laughed, following Sherlock up the stairs.

It was only a testament to Sherlock's mental will power that the consulting detective didn't stumble on the stairs. Not to be said once he hit the main floor of the flat, because he tripped over his own feet walking through the kitchen. He stumbled into a kitchen chair.

John started giggling again.

"Are you- are you sure that you don't need help?" he forced out, trying to keep a straight face.

"I am _fine_," Sherlock repeated. "And I really don't see why this is so funny, John; your coordination is atrocious on a daily basis."

"Yes, sure," John said. The insult that Sherlock was clearly aiming for was somewhat ruined by the large yawn that Sherlock only managed to partially conceal. "It's funny because you never act like this when you're fully awake and aware."

Sherlock only sniffed and stumbled the rest of the way to his room. John's smile broadened when he heard Sherlock's mattress squeak as the detective, most likely, fell onto it.

"Sleep tight, Mr. Exhausted," John called down the hall.

He didn't receive a comment in return.

Chuckling to himself again, John peered into Sherlock's room. Sherlock was sprawled out on his bed, still in his formal clothes. He was already unconscious.

John carefully grabbed the duvet and draped it over Sherlock's sleeping body. Sherlock sighed in response, pulling the duvet closer and nuzzling into his pillow.

John's smile was genuine this time, not mocking, as he smiled down at his sleeping flatmate.

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**I adore sleepy!lock. You... you just have no idea.**

**Reviews are wonderful! Thank you!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Yeah, Well, I Have Pie.**

"You're ridiculous."

"Yeah, well, I have pie." John speared a banana slice on his fork, popping it into his mouth. "And it's good pie," he continued.

Sherlock was glaring at John over the top of the book in his hand. John wasn't sure why he was even still holding the book; he clearly wasn't reading.

"What did they say it was called?"

"Banoffee Pie," Sherlock replied briskly.

"It's good."

"So you keep saying."

John fought back the grin that was threatening to ruin his nonchalance. He took another bite, relishing in the smooth, sweet taste of the toffee filling. "Have you had it before?"

"Yes."

"Really?" John didn't look away from his pie. "Did you like it?"

Sherlock gave a sort of 'hmph' in return.

John very nearly dissolved into laughter.

"Well?" he asked, when he could ask it with a straight face.

"It was fine," Sherlock replied.

John glanced up.

Sherlock was still watching him over the top of his book, his expression critical.

"Really? You liked it?"

"I said it was fine."

"Did you want some?" John asked. "I mean, we could split it. I'll get you a plate?"

"No," Sherlock said curtly.

"Are you sure?"

"... No."

Sherlock dropped the book onto the floor, striding across the room. He wrenched the cupboard open and grabbed a plate.

John _finally_ had the proper moment to laugh, and he took advantage of it.

"Really, John. How long did you plan to taunt me?" Sherlock said, humourlessly, as John split the slice of pie.

"Until you gave in and admitted that you have something that you actually _like_ to eat," John said, still smiling. "Albeit if it is terrible for your health..."

Sherlock only huffed, returning to his chair once he had his piece of pie.

* * *

**Inspired by Benedict Cumberbatch's love for Banoffee Pie. (Btw- Banoffee pie is delicious. I'm an American saying that. Made it on a whim for Thanksgiving after finding out that Ben liked it; it was a major hit. I recommend it highly.)**

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: Laughter is the Best Medicine**

John isn't even sure what started this, but he watches in fascination as the usually so stoic consulting detective in front of him clutches at the wall for support, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

There's something beautiful about watching Sherlock laugh. And not beautiful in the romantic way, but beautiful like a first snowfall or a star-filled night or-

John simply can't explain it.

Sherlock's face is completely free of annoyance, of disregard for rules and societal norms, of irritation or dedication or the stony-face emotionless mask that he usually wears. His eyes are glistening and his breathing is uneven as he gasps for air. There's utter disregard for his personal image- the ridiculous _I'm not like everyone else_ mask that he has built for himself- and he looks so _happy_.

John has never seen Sherlock so carefree and, while he can't contain even his own laughter, John feels very wistful for the fact that he doesn't get to witness this more often.

"John-" Sherlock gasps, the deep rumbling of his laughter seeming to echo in his chest before it bursts past his lips. "You-"

It becomes clear to John that Sherlock's laughing at _him_.

John finds that he doesn't care and just bites his lip to keep from laughing as well.

Sherlock hiccups just then. He pauses and John looks at him sharply. Sherlock dissolves into uncontrollable laughter again.

The detective's breathless now, and his rumbling laughter has turned high-pitched and reminiscent of obnoxious, but it's like music to John's ears. He knows that Sherlock will fall right back into his stoic stance as soon as this- whatever _this_ is, John still isn't sure- was over, but John isn't going to forget the sound and the look on Sherlock's face...

"You- you were- you were-" Sherlock draws in a very deep, very shaky breath. He coughs and hiccups and the laughter continues.

"Breathe," John comments, although his words lack conviction and he's still smiling.

Sherlock snickers and hiccups again.

"_Breathe_," John repeats, thumping the heel of his hand against Sherlock's back lightly. "Come on, you need to breathe!"

Sherlock takes a pointed breath, but it's shaky. "Can't- funny- you-" Sherlock deep laughter has turned to giggles and he presses his hand over his mouth.

"I don't even know what I did!" John exclaims.

It is, apparently, the wrong thing to say.

Sherlock snorts- honest to goodness snorts- his hand still pressed over his mouth. His face is already red from lack of oxygen, but it seems to flush infinitely more crimson at the unattractive noise.

"Well then. Go sit down..." John murmurs.

Silent laughter is rocking Sherlock's frame and John has to literally guide the detective to the couch. Once sitting, Sherlock presses his forehead against his knees and his laughter, audible again, is muffled by the fabric of his coat.

John goes about making himself a cup of tea- but definitely none for Sherlock because the barmy detective doesn't need anything else with sugar in it- and he is settled in his chair before Sherlock is breathing more than he is giggling.

The detective's face is entirely red, from forehead to ears to neck, and his eyes are glistening with tears of mirth.

"Oh... John... That was... _brilliant_," Sherlock mumbles, in between taking deep breaths.

"Still don't know what I did," John says to himself, smiling softly behind his teacup.

Sherlock sighs heavily, still chuckling quietly. "I... I really have to use the facilities now... If you'll excuse me..." he mutters, amusement in his tone, as he stands.

"Please don't piss yourself laughing at my expanse. I'm truly not that funny."

Sherlock seems to choke on the breath he's taking, laughter taking over. He presses his lips together and places his hand over his mouth again.

"Go to the bathroom!" John says, before Sherlock can find something else to laugh at.

A vague part of John wants to know what he did that was so damn hilarious that it sent Sherlock into hysterics. However, the part of him that had _observed_ Sherlock's countenance, his smiling face and carefree attitude, was saying he'd do it all over just to get Sherlock to laugh.

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**I said that sleepy!Sherlock is one of my loves. I recently discovered how much I love a laughing!Sherlock. Unfortunately... Sherlock going into hysterics probably isn't going to happen in the programme and... /shrugs It's just a nice mental picture.**

**Favs/Follows/Reviews are appreciated! Thanks!**


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